Ard Patrinell: The Story of a Wronk
by Einmonim
Summary: This is about Ard Patrinell and what Antrax did to him, all from his point of view. Took a year to finish, but finished it is. Read and review! XD
1. Part One: Capture and Imprisonment

Ard Patrinell crouched behind the steel wall that was his hiding place, watching the Druid Walker crawl deeper into the maze. Ahren Elessedil was huddled to his left, Joad Rish on his right, and the three Elven Hunters behind him. There was something desperately wrong with all this—a trap, he felt, but nothing seemed to happen. Walker continued on, unobstructed, making a faint shuffling sound as his robes brushed against the metal floor.

A glint of iron caught Ard's eyes, and without warning, bolts of fire hurled themselves at the Druid, trying to cut him apart. He saw people from the other groups rush to Walker's aid, only to be burned themselves. But Walker continued on, shouting in vain for everyone to stop following him, stepping past the walls which had begun to move until he reached the obelisk in the center of the maze. The fire threads continued to try to hit the Druid, but by then, he had disappeared, leaving the deadly bolts to strike at the others—including the people that were still fixed in their hiding place.

The former Captain of the Home Guard saw another wall that they could hide behind, and pointing at it, he shouted, "Run!" before sprinting towards it. He heard the three Elven Hunters close behind him, and further back, the Elven Prince and the Healer were trailing. Fire on metal created smoke, filling the square, reaching towards their small group. There were screams now, not only from the fire, but from something else as well. Ard Patrinell felt Ahren stiffen beside him, gasping. "What is it?" he hissed, before he, as well, realized what was coming. _Creepers!_ The word echoed in his mind, a promise of what was to happen to them all. The scrape of metal sounded behind him, and they all turned, bringing out their weapons in the same movement.

A creeper materialized from out of the gloom, one gleaming pincer instantly swiping down onto the Elven Hunter to Ard's left, leaving him a bloody mess, but still somehow alive. Joad Rish rushed to his side, seeing if he could in any way aid him, looking to the Elven Prince for help. Ard and the other two Elven Hunters rose, bringing their weapons up defensively, protecting the prince and the healer.

Clawed pincers crashed down from out of nowhere, crushing yet another Elven Hunter, killing him instantly. Rage welled up inside Patrinell, and he began to fight back, two people, made out of flesh and blood, against so many, indestructible machines created from metal. Somehow, Ard and the other Elf withstood the attack for a moment, forcing them back, blocking the pincers that sought to crush them. The haze hindered their view, luring them towards certain death had they not been Elves.

Then, suddenly, shockingly, the creepers froze in place, leaving Ard to look around. What he saw was horror. The Elven Hunter by his side was injured in a dozen places, half-dead. Joad Rish, the Healer, was still hovering over the first fallen Elf, motioning for Ahren to help him, when a fire thread lanced out from the deadly maze, striking Joad's head, covering everything with a sheen of red. Ahren's scream pierced the air, a haunting noise, chilling to the bone. "Ahren!" Ard shouted, but the Elven Prince had already dropped his sword and fled, experiencing a nightmare that had come true. Patrinell yelled out his name again, but was only greeted by the sound of pincers coming closer.

_Stupid!_ Ard Patrinell had let his guard down, and in doing so, might have foolishly given up his life. He dredged up all his battle tactics from the deepest corners of his mind, fighting to stay alive. A pincer reached for him, and he futilely tried to force it back, metal against metal, but to no avail. The former Captain of the Home Guard could feel the cold claws wrapping around him, knowing that he was fighting a losing battle, still stubbornly hacking at the creeper. Strangely, the metallic claws did not squeeze him to death, but carried him with an unusual gentleness. As if it didn't want to hurt him. As if it wanted him to live. _But why…?_

A greenish haze appeared around him, making his eyelids droop. He fought to keep them open, to see what was happening, trying to determine what was going on.

_Don't close your eyes!_

_Keep fighting!_

But the haze was persistent, and in the end, Ard Patrinell fell asleep, still cradled within the creeper's pincers.

When the former Captain of the Home Guard woke up, all he saw was a deep, persistent black. Shaking his head wearily, he realized that his eyes were still closed. He tried to open them, but they stayed shut, as if glued together. _Open up!_ he screamed at himself, not thinking of how ludicrous it sounded. But his eyes remained closed, and try as he might, Ard Patrinell could not open them. There was an oddly detached feeling to his body, as if he wasn't connected to the rest of himself. _That's ridiculous_, he chided, but remained unsure. Something seemed to be surrounding him, a liquid, perhaps, and he tried to determine what it was. He wondered how he was still alive if there was no oxygen to draw on. _Maybe I _am_ dead_, he thought, _but I just don't know it._

He decided to use the time to think. While his eyes were closed, he was defenseless anyway, and thinking would hopefully make him understand better.

Ard's mind drifted. He thought back to the time when Walker Boh had first arrived in Arborlon, seeking able people to go with him to find the lost treasure. Helplessness welled up inside him as he recalled the reason for why he was to go. Kylen Elessedil had wanted to get rid of him, blaming him unfairly for Allardon Elessedil's assassination. In a way, Ard did believe himself responsible, turning taciturn and sullen, but he knew it could have not been prevented. Kylen had not announced it out loud, but Ard could read it in the way the new king looked at and acted towards him. The former Captain of the Home Guard had been stripped of his title, reduced to next to nothing in the eyes of the ruler and the Elves. But the Elven Hunters and Trackers accompanying him on the _Jerle Shannara_ still believed in him, or at least a few of them, and he took heart in that. He had trained them still on the long voyage, keeping them in fighting condition, doing his best to make sure they would be prepared when they reached their destination. Ard had trained Ahren Elessedil as well, the king's brother, the Elf who was so unsure of himself. He had fought with him when the sun was highest, making it a point to the other distrustful Elves that he was not favoring him, that now because he was not a Captain of the Home Guard he no longer had any close ties with the prince.

But Patrinell was still friends with the youngest Elessedil, acting as his mentor and companion, using their break time to talk about things that had been, purposely avoiding the present and the future. He recalled the battle between himself and the creepers, seeing in his mind Ahren throwing down his sword and running away, haunted by images of a headless Joad Rish. It hurt Ard deeply to see his student fleeing from the face of danger, abandoning his friends when they had needed him most. Ahren's scream still pounded in his ears, a scream that spoke of terror, fear, frustration, and anger. He wondered suddenly what had become of Ahren Elessedil since he had fled, then almost instantly afterward wondered what had become of the others from the airship.

_Walker Boh._ Ard decided to think of him, the leader of the group, possessed of Druidic magic and powers. He was willing to bet that no one had seen the Druid since he had disappeared behind the obelisk with the curious red lights. He was an enigma, a person that could not be trusted easily, always shading the truth. Ard remembered the way Walker's pale face had tightened upon entering the maze, a mask of determination. He believed that the Druid would survive. Patrinell had seen some of the magic before, and he thought that it would get Walker past whatever warded Castledown.

His mind shifted again, jumping from topic to topic, finally landing on one, a silver-haired girl with purple eyes. _Ryer Ord Star._ It seemed clear enough as to why she had come. The girl was a seer, channeling her visions to Walker. Walker and Ryer—they had seemed very close, ever since the poison of Shatterstone's plants had damaged the Druid. From what Ard had heard, the seer had used her skills as an empath to relieve Walker of the pain, healing him better than Joad Rish could have done. It was amazing as to what a mere girl could do, how she had saved the Druid from the lethal poison. Ryer Ord Star stuck like glue to Walker, a dog following its owner, always there for him. The last Ard had seen of her was when the first fire thread had lanced out, making Ryer shriek in alarm, sprinting towards the Druid in a futile attempt to save him. He remembered a boy following…

A boy. _Bek Rowe._ He perhaps was one of the greatest enigmas of all, even though it didn't seem like it. The reasons for his coming were still unknown to Ard and the rest. He was the cabin boy, a person barely at manhood, nothing marking him as anything special. Yet he was the boy that had guided their airship past the Squirm, the grinding pillars of ice that had threatened to crush them all. The _Jerle Shannara_'s cabin boy had used some sort of magic in navigating their ship safely through, though what had been used was uncertain. The boy had also retrieved the third key from the large island of Mephitic, seemingly alone and unaided, when no one else from the group had been able to do so. Bek had made quick friends with Ahren and Rue, Elven Prince and Rover, two people on opposite ends of the spectrum. Walker had mentioned that Bek had been adopted, that he wasn't really a Leah, but someone else altogether.

Which would in turn mean that the Highlander wasn't really his cousin. _Quentin Leah._ Besides the Druid himself, Quentin was the only one with any palpable magic, the wielder of the magical Sword of Leah. Everyone had seen it in use before on the island of Flay Creech, when Walker and Quentin had descended the ship in an effort to retrieve the first key. The giant eels that Ryer Ord Star had seen in her visions had attacked, and the magic had flared to life, fighting them off, until the crew of the _Jerle Shannara_ could pull them up to safety. The thought made Patrinell's mouth twitch upward in a small smile. If he hadn't been training Quentin on the long voyage, the Highlander would have died on Flay Creech. At the beginning of the journey, Quentin had been a nearly hopeless swordsman, but practice and training from Ard had shown a dramatic improvement in his skills. He had been a good student, eager to learn how to wield his sword properly. His newly acquired skills and the magic would probably save him later, for the Highlander had a brash determination and courage, two things that would help. Ard had not seen him at all since they had separated.

He remembered the Rovers, who had been left on the _Jerle Shannara_ to act as guardians for the ship. Rovers were the best at flying airships, whether anyone admitted it or not. Ard thought of the captain and his first mate. _Redden Alt Mer and Rue Meridian._ They were brother and sister, both with flaming red hair and diverse personalities. The former, everyone claimed, was the best captain in the world, aided by his skills and his luck. The claim seemed true, or at least some of it. He had gotten their airship through numerous storms, had managed to navigate it through the Squirm with Bek's help, and had even once saved Walker and the Elven Hunter Kian from the poisonous plants of Shatterstone by pulling them up without getting hurt himself. That was Alt Mer—the man who could get past anything. Rue was very similar to him, a little sister looking to her big brother. She was known as Little Red, while Redden Alt Mer was known as Big Red. But there was nothing little about Little Red. She was a fierce young woman, charging into everything, as wily as Rovers went. Rue had constructed a wall around herself, blocking everyone from her with the exceptions of Big Red and Bek Rowe. She seemed to like the mysterious cabin boy, which surprised Patrinell. And although she was a girl, everyone knew that Rue was every inch as dangerous as her brother was. They were easygoing people, but when threatened would have a dagger at the would-be threatener's throat. That was how they had stayed alive all this time.

There was a whirring noise suddenly, and Ard Patrinell cut short his thoughts, listening intently. The former Captain of the Home Guard realized that during all this time, his mouth had been open as well, like a fish. He tried to close it, but like his eyes, it was frozen. For the first time since he was captured, he wondered in alarm what was to become of him. If whatever caught him had wanted him dead, he would be so already. Maybe it wanted information. Maybe it wanted to use him.

The thought made him cold. _Use him._ It was a frightening thought, and Ard quickly pushed it out of his mind, but it lurked still within the corners of his consciousness, a snake ready to strike.

Ard listened on. The whirring noise sounded again, a bit louder this time. _What is it?_ he thought, but could not place it. It wasn't anything familiar to him.

Something snapped without, and Patrinell's eyes opened, finding himself looking at a small room with complex machinery whirring all around. Old World technology, he knew, but the fact did not help. There was a wall of something around him—glass, he thought—and apparently there was no way out. He tried to concentrate his hand on touching the glass, to feel it, but nothing responded. Bubbles rose around him, confirming the fact that he was submerged in some kind of fluid, still living somehow.

Ard cocked his head slightly, trying to turn his head, when something else caught his eye. It was laying on a metal platform, still and unmoving, and it made him want to choke.

It was a body he recognized, headless and with only one arm.

His body.

Ard Patrinell panicked then, seeing something that was part of him, yet wasn't at the same time. The glint of his dagger could be seen in his boot, where he had tucked it upon leaving the airship. His sword was sheathed somehow, firmly in its leather scabbard, seemingly untouched. The arm that was still there, his left arm, was straight, at his body's side, its fingers clenched in a fist.

_No! It can't be!_

Ard studied the body, trying in vain to find a way to prove to his eyes that it wasn't his own. But he saw the golden medallion that had marked him as a Captain of the Home Guard, shining brightly, its single blue ribbon hanging limply against his clothes.

Even the clothes were the same, the dark green cloak that had shielded his brown tunic and pants, camouflage for the forests. The soft leather boots were still on his feet, bloodied from the battle. Where the right arm would have been the sleeve lay flat against the table, having nothing to fill it up. Blood soaked that sleeve, its source the part where the arm connected to the shoulder. There was blood at the tunic's collar, as well, oozing out of the stump of a neck. Nothing was being done to stop it, and Patrinell had the feeling that there was no need to do so. His body had died long ago.

_What could have done this?_

He closed his eyes against the grisly sight, trying to sort things out in his mind. How could his head still function, the brain, eyes, ears, nose, and mouth, without his heart? It didn't seem possible. But from what he had seen, the Old World technology could do nearly anything.

That would mean that whatever operated these things, these revolving wheels, these mysterious probes, would be from the Old World as well, something that had survived for over a thousand years. Ard no longer disbelieved. If the thing that had caught him could do this, then it could certainly have lived for a very long time.

But where was his right arm? Patrinell forced himself to open his eyes again and to scan the silver room.

_There._

He saw it, suspended in a glass case separate from his, floating in a clear fluid, fingers moving frantically, muscles tensing then relaxing.

So it was still alive. Strangely enough, there was no hint of blood in the case, no leakage at all. Somehow, the blood had continued to circulate within his arm, never leaving its boundaries.

_What could have done this?_ Ard Patrinell asked himself a second time._ What?_

As if anticipating his question, something flashed inside of him, a single word emerging from out of the darkness. He grabbed at it, desperate for any explanation, snatching at the word and then holding it.

_Antrax._

He had begun to look around the room then, searching for an escape route that had to be there, when he felt the eyes on him. _No, not eyes_, he corrected himself. It was something that could see, but not with eyes. It used something else. It was Antrax, and it was capable of anything.

Ard stopped moving his head around, waiting for the mysterious sight to go away, focusing his eyes on a single rotating wheel. The wheel had jagged edges, made out of metal, and at its center was a blinking red light. It could not have been fire. Fire gave off a yellowish light, and did not blink. This was decidedly not yellowish. _More Old World technology_, he thought wearily. Ard was sick of it. Old World technology was dangerous. It could move walls around effortlessly. It could emit different colored lights. It could find a target and destroy it with fire. It could control creepers. It could kill people without a second thought. And worst of all, it could steal someone's soul and never let them die. That, he sensed, was what had been done to him. Antrax was a disgusting, heartless thing, and it did not care about anything else besides itself.

Patrinell forced himself to look at the ruins of his body, the flesh already beginning to decay, the blood turning slowly black. He wondered why it hadn't been cleaned up yet. Ard turned away.

Suddenly, small doors opened all around the perimeter of the room, and little metallic things filtered in. Everything seemed to be made of metal around here. _Sweepers_, he thought on a whim, naming them just as Ahren Elessedil had done, far away. Some mopped up the blood, while others dragged his body from the counter and through the largest opening in the wall. They scrubbed the floor and table until it shined, and it looked as if nothing had ever been there at all.

_No!_ the former Captain of the Home Guard thought frantically. He didn't want his body to be dragged somewhere where he could never see it, much less reach it, again. Ard stared at it, memorizing every detail, from the badge that had marked him as a Captain to the dagger in his boot. He could feel tears welling up in his eyes, but the droplets quickly mingled with the rest of the clear liquid. He blinked once, and then his body was gone, towed from the platform and through the dark opening to somewhere else. A dump, probably. After the last sweeper skittered out, all the doors closed. Patrinell felt all hopes of escape slowly leak away from him. He was doomed.

Antrax was still watching him, watching him without eyes, and he continued to fix his gaze on the revolving wheel. Ard Patrinell did not know why Antrax was waiting to do whatever it wanted to do to him, making him then wonder what it had in store for him in the first place. Ard closed his eyes, shutting out everything but Antrax's inexorable presence. He did not want to think about it. He was almost frightened to.

_Not _almost_ frightened_, he reasoned, changing his thoughts. _I _am_ frightened._

For the first time in Ard Patrinell's life, he was afraid.

Ard opened his eyes again after feeling the presence of Antrax leave. He wondered why he was not tired. He blinked, staring fixedly at the metal platform where his body had once been, and tried to think things out.

Antrax clearly wanted him for something. Or at least, it wanted some of him. And that was only his head and sword arm. The question was why.

He thought suddenly of the creepers, made of flesh and metal, and shivered inwardly. The thought of himself being grafted onto bits and pieces of metal and used as a killing machine scared him. Ard had never heard of a creeper with human parts before. It was a disgusting thought.

Patrinell turned his gaze to his right arm, floating in a glass container to his left, fighting down the feeling of repulsion that swept through him. He concentrated on it, trying to get it to respond to him in some small way. Nothing happened. His arm and his head were two separate things now.

He stared at the end of the arm, where it should have connected to the shoulder, when he noticed the tubes. They were clear and small, and Ard would have missed it if not for his keen Elven eyesight. There were about five of them, and all went straight into the arm, plunging into the bone and blood. He had no idea as to why they were there. He had no idea as to anything. Ard felt helpless, trapped in some glass container. How long would he stay like this? Was he just something for Antrax to look at?

He quickly stemmed the flow of questions, not wanting them to overwhelm him. He had no answers to them. All Ard knew was that he was here, alone with Antrax, and quite possibly the only person still alive. If you could call it that. He imagined that it would be rather easy for Antrax to kill off everyone else.

All of a sudden, the doors from which the sweepers had come in through opened again, gleaming rectangles of steel rising up against the wall, screeching as metal rubbed against metal. Odd-looking things with precise, sharp pincers scurried in, wheels creaking on the floor. They were bigger then the sweepers, but Ard supposed that they could still be called that. Some of the larger sweepers, Patrinell realized in horror, had surgeon probes. Antrax would wait no longer. It was going to do something to him. Something horrible.

One of the sweepers, this one with a thin, cylindrical body and two slender hand-like things protruding from it came up to him. It was carrying something that looked strangely like an eyedropper. Without warning, the sweeper rose, getting taller, smaller cylinders popping out from inside the biggest one, until it reached the rim of Ard's glass case. _It's going to set me free!_ Ard thought in elation, his mind so desperate for freedom that he had considered something like that. Then rational thoughts took over again, and he discarded the possibility. He craned his neck upwards, trying to see what the sweeper was doing. Ard saw the the thing it was holding—which was indeed an eyedropper—clearly now through the fluids that surrounded him. There was some sort of a green liquid in there, bubbling slightly. He watched the drops fall down, one by one, painstakingly slow. Then finally the eyedropper was emptied, and the sweeper shrank to its normal size again. Ard cocked his head. What was that green liquid? He ignored it, not feeling anything happen to him yet, and looked at the other sweepers. They were laying out metal pieces at one end of the platform, organizing them carefully. A few of the parts looked roughly like human parts. Fear surged within Ard Patrinell, and he once more looked away, remembering the green liquid again. He didn't think that it would be used to kill him. It seemed pointless. After all, what was the point of dissembling his body and keeping some of it alive when Antrax wanted to kill him? It could have easily done so when the creeper had caught him.

But Ard wanted to die. He felt so miserable, being confined in a glass box not doing anything. And Patrinell had a feeling that it hadn't reached the worst point yet. There was more to come. Much more.

And when it came, he would be helpless, slave to Antrax, spending all of eternity in a cage.

A greenish veil fell over his eyes, causing him to blink sleepily. Ard identified it as the liquid that the sweeper had dropped into the case. All his senses became strangely numbed, fading away slowly yet surely, robbing him of his touch, his sight, and his hearing. He strained his ears, trying to fight against it, attempting to make out the sharp clatter of the sweepers, and failing. When his hearing disappeared, his sight began to as well, the gray and silver tones becoming duller with each passing second, getting darker and darker until it faded away to black. The feel of the fluids surrounding him vanished.

_I hope this is temporary_, Ard thought rather ironically. _But maybe—if I'm lucky—this is death._

In seconds, the former Captain of the Home Guard was asleep.


	2. Part Two: Dreams

He began to dream, the images floating before him, drifting around in steady cadence. They were of himself, watching everything from a bird's-eye view, his senses strangely acute. They were of the past and present, revealing nothing of the future, only the things that had come to pass and the things that would pass right now. They were of certain key points in Ard Patrinell's life, points that seemed to have nothing to do with the present but were somehow the ultimate link to it.

The first part of his dreams were of his past, of times long gone and that could never be called back again. Tamis was in them, the small, pixie-faced Elven Tracker that he had once been in love with. She was the one that had found Castledown when the _Jerle Shannara_ landed in this new place. Her skills were exceptional.

His dream began at a point about five years ago from now, when he was still Captain of the Home Guard. Ard was remembering the argument they had, the argument that had broke them up. Tamis had wanted to become a member of the Home Guard, was almost desperate for it, but Ard had turned her down. She would serve her city better by becoming a Tracker, he had told her. She was very gifted and she should put that gift to use. Tamis had argued back, proving her fighting skills to him, stubborn to the last.

As stubborn as Tamis was, Patrinell was so even more, and he had pointed out that while her combat skills were good, her tracking skills were even better. Once she had discovered a missing child that had somehow strayed from her family while they were visiting relatives in the Sarandanon. The girl had been wandering Drey Wood, lost and frightened, living off edible plants that every Elf knew about. Tamis had learned about her, discovered her tracks, and had found her all within a week. No one else could have done that, Ard had insisted. After a few more moments of persuading, Tamis finally backed off, hating Patrinell for rejecting her. The gap that had opened after that had taken a long time to close.

The scene faded, and Ard Patrinell felt himself going even farther back in time, stopping about three years before his and Tamis' dispute. He knew what this next part was going to be about at once.

Eight years ago, there had been rumors of a silver fox haunting the small villages of the fertile Sarandanon, frightening the citizens and sometimes hurting them. The rumors had become real when it had reached the Elven city of Arborlon, slipping somehow by the sentries always posted at the gates, terrorizing the occupants. It was a huge fox, nearly four feet tall, and almost twice as long. There was a hint of magic in it, just a trace, nothing that was natural but instilled. By whom, no one ever found out. _The Ilse Witch_, Ard thought blackly now, surprised at how much it seemed to make sense to him, before returning to the dream. The fox had stalked Allardon Elessedil, Home Guard always stopping it, although there were close calls nonetheless. Finally, Allardon ordered Ard, who was a Captain of the Home Guard even then, to get rid of it. How, it did not matter. The only thing that counted was that it was destroyed.

Patrinell knew that it would be too dangerous for the king and his subjects if the fox was to be killed in Arborlon, and so he and his Home Guard surrounded it one night, tied it up as best as they could, many of his men getting bloodied along the way, and dropped it onto the banks of the Rill Song from the seventh gate of the Elfitch. The fox had nearly worked free of its bindings even as it was falling, and therefore did not die as Ard had hoped. But his hopes did not matter at that moment, and so he had chosen Tamis to go with him to track the fox and to destroy it. Tamis had not been too eager to do so, not knowing the animal's capabilities, unsure as to whether she could do it. It was an excellent challenge, one that she did not want to give up on so easily, but having doubts about nonetheless. Life is only so long, Ard had told Tamis. Make the most of it.

He interrupted his strange dream again. _Life is only so long. Make the most out of it._ It seemed that he had followed his own advice. He had managed to be caught by Antrax and made over. Not everything had a chance to do that, did it? The thought was dripping with irony, and Ard Patrinell returned to his past.

Tamis had finally agreed, leaving with him the next morning at dawn, the sky already bright and cloudless, a brilliant day for tracking. She found the fox's tracks somewhere on the eastern banks of the Rill Song, its waters flowing south towards the expanse of the Innisbore. Ard's quarry had gone into the river, swam upstream, and come back out again on the western bank, its footprints clear in the mud. Apparently, it was not traveling back to Arborlon.

After that, the chase really began. Tamis and Ard had followed it all the way to the Hoare Flats, entering through the northern pass, Worl Run, before coming out again, this time through the more southerly one, Halys Cut. They tracked it along the edge of the Innisbore, followed it once more along the Rill Song, skirting the western side of the Matted Breaks, into the Pykon and out again, and almost catching it at the banks of the Mermidon River. Although the Mermidon's current was strong, and the river was flooded, the fox had managed to cross it. The two Elves had been forced to build a raft so they could reach the other side safely, losing a day in the process. But they managed to find its tracks again, chasing it onto Whistle Ridge and then down into the Shroudslip. There they had caught up with it, and with the use of bow and arrow, pushed it back until the fox drowned in the marsh. After that, Tamis and Ard finally went back home to Arborlon. The whole thing had taken a month.

There was a lull in his dreaming, and all Patrinell saw was that dark, unsure black. He found that he could think freely, as if he weren't asleep at all, but still conscious, only with his eyes closed. Ard had no idea as to why he had dreamed about things that had already happened, more like recalling a memory rather than letting his imagination go free as in normal dreaming. He puzzled over it but could find no reasonable explanation. And both of the memories had been of Tamis.

_Tamis._ The Elven Tracker's name whispered softly in his mind, a reminder of times gone by. He constructed an image of her in his mind, her roundish, pixie face, her dark cropped hair, her gray eyes. Ard had been in love with her once. He paused in his thinking. He was in love with her now, he realized. Still. The knowledge of it streaked across his mind, hitting him full in the face. Ard brushed it away irritably.

The images returned, his dreams come back to haunt him. He saw, heard, and felt once more. His senses were clear and unobstructed. A sheen of silver was present everywhere. He was dreaming about himself once more, but there was no Tamis this time. He was alone.

Or, rather, his head and arm were alone, save for the presence of the metal machines. The sweepers.

Ard Patrinell willed the images to come to him and was swept up in its embrace.

But maybe it would have been better if he hadn't.

He was looking at everything from a bird's-eye view once again, seeing with eyes from the ceiling, taking as much as he could in. He was dreaming of his present state, the position that he had been in before his senses had been numbed. Ard saw his head in the glass case, his arm in another, larger one close by, and sweepers everywhere, counting out functions, arranging the metal pieces, watching.

This dream, Ard Patrinell believed, was reality.

He wanted to shut it out from his mind, to hide it somewhere where he could never find it again, but the images were persistent and they stayed with him.

Something was going to happen to him now, and he did not want to see it pass. But his wants and needs had no part in the matter, and probably never would again, and Ard was forced to watch himself become something else.

The sweepers began with his head, which had the invisible tubes as well, he noticed, taking it out of the glass container and laying it on the metal platform. The tubes were removed; almost at once he saw his features contort in pain and horror.

Ard could feel it in his dream. It was a horrible, wracking pain, a dull throb that began at his neck but quickly worked its way upwards, worsening all the while. Just when he thought that he couldn't stand it anymore, the pain lessened, if only slightly, and the former Captain of the Home Guard relaxed once more.

A hollow half-sphere was brought up and fitted onto the top of his head, acting as a shield of sorts. Something drilled into the holes at its side, joining head and half-sphere as one. Patrinell felt an ache somewhere near his temples. He wished he could rub them and relieve some of it. But of course, he had no arms to do so.

His face had begun contorting again, and one of the sweepers quickly injected the greenish liquid into him with a needle. He watched himself still, his senses in his body dulled, but his senses in his spirit sharp. Ard looked on.

The biggest piece of all, a thick, rectangular box of metal blinking with multicolored lights and red, digital numbers, was brought up. There was a stout, cylindrical part at the center of one end, the sides sloping down until it merged with the rest of the box. Red and blue wires crisscrossed it all over, connecting one end to the other. It was laid on the platform directly below his head. Some sort of metallic ball was stuck in his neck, which in turn was slipped into the cylinder. _The body_, Ard realized. The cylinder was to protect his neck, apparently.

Patrinell looked at his new body more closely, finding that small buttons were everywhere. At its sides were four rounded out dents. The holes on the vertical side were smaller than the ones on the horizontal side. He watched as three long, thin pieces of metal put together in a way so that they could bend at the center were attached to three of the dents in a ball-and-socket joint. At the end of one of the metal pieces was something that vaguely resembled a hand, and at the ends of the others were things that looked like squarish feet. They clattered when moved. The wires were everywhere.

Ard shifted his gaze until it landed on his right arm. The one part of his new body that would be flesh and blood. A sweeper lifted it out of its glass case, removed the tubes, and injected the greenish liquid. The part where his arm should have connected to the shoulder was fastened onto the last remaining dent on the body's right side, also in a ball-and-socket joint. Two pads were brought out from beneath the platform and fixed onto the metal feet so that they would not clatter. Then the sweepers that had been standing by crowded over the new Ard Patrinell, prodding the buttons, counting out functions.

_Don't show me any more_, he begged. But no one was there.

Ard felt Antrax's presence return, to look at its new grotesque creation, relishing its plans for him. He watched each sweeper spark suddenly in response to a command Antrax had issued, and waited to see what would happen. The biggest sweepers brought Patrinell and his new body into an upright position, so that he was standing. His eyes were still closed. His metal hand held a long knife while his other one, the one with flesh and blood, held a broadsword. His left arm had an oval shield attached to it.

A gap appeared in the wall directly in front of him, hidden doors sliding back to reveal a tunnel. _A way of escape,_ Ard thought.

The lights on his metal body all flashed abruptly, and Patrinell felt himself returning to his body. _Now we shall see._

With a tremendous effort, Ard Patrinell opened his eyes and took his first step in his new body into the world beyond.


	3. Part Three: The Hunt Begins

__

I can't believe this is happening, was his first thought. Ard had been equipped with a newer, more hard body, two swords, and shields all around. He was being provided a way of escape. He could return to the _Jerle Shannara_ and from there, back to Arborlon. He could do all this and more.

That is, if he had been able to control his own body.

It moved by itself, he discovered after leaving the room he had been confined in. Each foot lifted ponderously, slowly, crashing down onto the metal floor in front of it. This was not how Ard Patrinell walked.

The pads kept the metal parts on the feet from clanking so that it would not make too much noise. What resulted was a heavy thudding. He had never walked like that before.

He continued into the tunnel unwillingly, watching as his body thumped on by itself. The tunnel branched into opposite directions; Ard went into one without hesitation. _What's going on?_ he thought frantically. _I don't even know this place!_

Ard thudded along, going towards something specific yet unknown to him, listening as his footfalls made echoes along the narrow passageway.

An hour came and went, and Patrinell was still walking along the catacombs of Castledown. He had no idea that the ruins were this big. He was not tired; the metal parts of him could not feel exhaustion. Ard did not know if that was good or bad.

Suddenly, he heard voices. It was faint at first, hindered by the clear shield around his head, but sharpened as he got closer. _If I can hear them, then they can hear me_, he thought in dismay. _But who are they? Friend or foe?_

Figures materialized in the strange light, and Ard breathed in sharply as he realized who they were. _It can't be._

The two people standing in front of him were Tamis and Quentin Leah.

Three more shapes appeared behind the Highlander and the Tracker. _Panax, Kian, and Wye_, Ard mouthed. The Dwarf and the two Elven Hunters, along with Tamis and Quentin, gaped at him in shock. Ard felt himself lift up his weapons to strike.

_No!_

He did not want to slay them. But he started for them automatically, a killing machine constructed by Antrax, caring for no one. _Run!_ he howled inside his mind, for he had no voice to talk with.

The five people continued to stand there, still frozen in surprise, until Tamis shouted, "No! Get out of here!"

_Get out!_

They backed away slowly, but when Ard picked up speed, they broke into a run, headed in the opposite direction. He continued after them, wishing that he could just stop and die, but his wishes counted for next to nothing. Everyone was yelling now, shouting things to each other, words that Patrinell could not make out. He felt strangely alone.

There was a split in the passageway, and he watched Kian and Wye sprint into the left tunnel. Tamis and Panax followed, but Quentin turned around, bringing forth the Sword of Leah. The magic flared to life, and the Highlander swung his sword at him.

Ard deflected the blow easily, having been Quentin's teacher in fighting tricks and maneuvers, knowing almost always what Quentin would try. The force of the impact nearly knocked the Highlander over, but he regained his footing, trying not to slip on the smooth metal floor.

Patrinell was afraid. He was not only afraid for himself but for Quentin Leah as well, his student aboard the _Jerle Shannara_. He was good, but not as good as Ard, and he wasn't completely sure if the Highlander would survive the battle.

He swung his long knife at Quentin, but the other seized his metal arm in an attempt to keep it back. The effort did nothing more than slow him, and the knife sliced through thin air as Quentin spun away.

The Sword of Leah, pulsating with its magic, came around again with a blow aimed at Ard's neck. Ard brought up his broadsword in self-defense, only partially deflecting it, but the invisible shield around his head stopped it altogether.

Quentin's mouth widened in astonishment and he backed away a second time. Tamis appeared at his side, Tamis, the woman Ard Patrinell had loved and still did, and, at a nod from Quentin, began hacking at his sides along with the Highlander, trying to break something, anything. Patrinell repelled Quentin's attacks effortlessly, but for Tamis, who had known him and his tactics longer, was harder to fight against. He didn't feel any pain at his sides, which were all metal. Antrax had built him well, and nothing broke down.

Ard sidestepped one of Quentin's blows, taking up a new position as a barrier between Highlander and Tracker. Tamis shrieked in fury and hacked at his back, but Patrinell was pinning Quentin to the wall, feeling nothing. He watched as the Sword of Leah continued to hammer at his faceplate, not even cracking it. Ard felt a strange sense of invincibility, but it was quickly washed away by the other feelings that conflicted inside of him. He felt trapped, forced to fight his friends and students, trying his best not to harm them but failing miserably. His eyes abruptly locked with Quentin's, and he saw the magic inside.

Horror replaced the other emotions on the Highlander's face as he cried out in shock and broke away using some hidden reserve of strength.

_What had he seen?_

"Run!" Quentin shouted to the Elven Tracker, and they fled down the tunnel, back towards wherever they had come from. Ard followed, pondering the look of shock that had crossed Quentin's face when they had faced each other.

_What did Antrax _really_ do to him?_

As usual, there were no answers, and he continued on.

A few minutes later, he arrived at a ventilation shaft. Quentin and Tamis had escaped through here. The sunlight filtered in from the narrow slits, a promise of life and hope.

But not for him. Never for him.

Ard charged through the shaft, barreling into it, gathering speed all the while. He emerged into a world of light and color, blinding him temporarily as his eyes adjusted from the grays to the reds, greens, and blues, from the mysterious, non-burning light to the pure, real daylight. Patrinell assessed the situation quickly, running all the while. Quentin, Tamis, Panax, Kian, and Wye were off to one side, but directly in front of him were others, their skin colored red. They were organized into rows and columns, spears bristling, blowguns lifted.

_What are they?_

A charge would be the easiest way to finish them off, he thought, his mind lurching as he felt his body respond. He went straight into the red-skinned people, never stopping, knocking them and their weapons aside easily. Ard's weapons were up and ready in an offensive position, and before he knew it, three of the strangers were withering on the ground, dead and dying.

"Wronk!" he heard the others cry in fear and horror, before they fled against the onslaught. Now only the three Elves, the Dwarf, the Highlander, and a handful of the strangers remained, their weapons lifted up futilely.

Ard Patrinell's thoughts raced. _Is that what I am now?_

A wronk?

The word had an unpleasant ring to it, but it only made sense that it was so.

If what he had become had a name, then that would mean that others had met up with the same end as he. The thought made him feel better marginally, but was quickly replaced with anger as Ard realized that Antrax had made a tool out of so many.

_How many from the _Jerle Shannara_ have met up with this fate?_

The thought scared him. What had happened to Ahren Elessedil after he had run off? Had he, too, been captured by Antrax and made into this _thing_, this wronk?

Why was he here in the first place? What was his purpose?

How could his metal body know what he was thinking?

Ard Patrinell forced his questions and thoughts away from him. He had no answers. He did not know a thing about Old World technology. He did not know a thing about anything. Everything he had known had been stripped from him.

Patrinell concentrated himself on the figures ahead of him. He did not want to hurt them. They were innocent people, some that he had never even seen before, and they had done nothing to make him hate them. But he did not have a choice.

The sunlight reflected off the long knife menacingly as he brought it up. His human arm shifted ever so slightly. Everyone stepped back. They knew what he could do. They were afraid.

He was afraid as well. Ard wanted to retch over what had been done to him. It was disgusting.

_No_, he thought. Disgusting was a gross understatement. What he was feeling was ten times worse. Ard could not even begin to describe the repulsion that he felt. It threatened to overwhelm him.

Quentin Leah came up to meet him, and Ard parried his blows easily. He knew what Quentin was going to do, and he knew how to stop it. The Elves, Panax, and the unknown people rushed to help the Highlander, and one more went down, ripped into shreds. The two strangers left turned and fled, leaving Patrinell alone face-to-face with his students and friends. One foot lifted ponderously and started for them, weapons raised and ready. Then another.

_They know they aren't going to make it_, he thought in despair. _I'm going to kill them all._ The thought saddened him, and Ard picked up the pace.

Quentin's band backed away another step and exchanged glances.

Ard pressed the attack, and not seeing where he was stepping, got tangled up in a dead man's legs. He lost his footing and went down, but was up again almost instantly. However, one of the man's limbs had lodged itself in his metal body's joints, and he had to take a few moments to free himself. Tamis pointed into the forests behind her and everyone fled. He started after them at once, thinking all the while.

Obviously, the body that he was attached to could read his thoughts and respond accordingly. It could feed off his mind, searching for the best way to destroy the enemy, and then employ the tactic. That was how Ard had responded to Quentin's attacks. Although he couldn't control his own body to do as he wished, his mind could—in a more subconscious way, albeit. He would never be able to keep Quentin and Tamis safe from the danger he presented unless he were to lose his memories, which was highly unlikely. He would continue to hunt them down. He would never be free until they were all dead. And maybe not even then.

Ard Patrinell bent down to read the signs. They had went north, it seemed. They were going to try to outrun him.

Except that they wouldn't be able to. Ard already knew that instinctively. They were still normal human beings, not yet mutilated by Antrax, and they would tire like everyone else. He would catch up with them sooner or later.

_Mutilated by Antrax_. Patrinell's thoughts froze. What if he had been sent to gather more pieces of human flesh for Antrax? What if his purpose in becoming a wronk was to help Antrax make more wronks?

An image appeared in his mind, a picture of a creature that was human in shape yet wasn't entirely, a fusing of metal and flesh. Like him.

The image danced at the edge of his subconsciousness, the face always in shadow. Then it lifted.

That thing was Tamis.

Ard's mind jerked, and he clamped a mental vise around it, sheathing it in iron, banning it from his thoughts. He straightened from his bending position and the hunt continued on.

Ard was trundling through the forest, heedless of the vines that sought to entangle him, cutting them away effortlessly and continuing on, when he saw a flash of red among the greenery. It was one of the people that had come with Quentin and Tamis, he knew, sent to see if they were still being followed. Patrinell picked up his pace and started towards where he had saw the other person.

He burst into a clearing, finding everyone not poised and ready to attack, but panicked and fleeing. Two of the strangers and Wye were trapped, and he killed them instantly. Ard forced himself not to think of what he was doing and stared at nothing. Kian and Panax fled one way while Quentin and Tamis fled another. He went after the Highlander without knowing why, fighting down people all the while. Screams sounded everywhere, speaking of pain and horror. _What am I doing?_ Ard thought frantically.

No answers presented themselves. He allowed himself to think of what he just did, killing three innocent people that sought only to escape from him, one of them an Elven Hunter. What he had just done repulsed him. Ard had killed Wye, an Elf, someone that had served in his service for over five years. Elves did not kill other Elves. Not on purpose. Unless they had been mind-altered by something, like the Elves that had assassinated Allardon Elessedil.

_Mind-altered._ Patrinell supposed that something similar had happened to him. The worst part, however, was that he was aware of all the horrible things he was doing. He knew that he was killing people for no clear reason. He knew that he was Antrax's slave. He knew that his life would continue forever like this if someone did not save him. He knew that he was doomed.

_I'm sorry, Wye_, he mouthed soundlessly. _I've failed you all._

Ard looked up at the setting sun, remembering times that had long since passed. The faces of the dead loomed before him, everyone from Joad Rish to Wye. It was his fault that they had died. If he had only been more careful…

He stepped down into a ravine, crushing any would-be obstacles, following Quentin and Tamis' trail. He was hunting them down, much like how a hound hunted a raccoon. Patrinell was the predator, and the Highlander and the Tracker were the prey. When he caught up to them, they would both die or have their body parts harvested for Antrax. Strange how fitting the analogy was, Ard mused. He was the hound, Antrax the master, and Tamis and Quentin the raccoons.

Ard Patrinell began to despair. _What have I become?_

Note: No, this is not done. And no, I do not own Shannara in any way. I am just a very aviant fan. And yes, thank you for all your nice comments saying that I'm a good writer. You motivate me! :D


	4. Part Four: Release

He walked through the night, stopping for nothing, unburdened by human feelings of tiredness and need of sleep. It was because of this he knew that inevitably, even with his slow lumbering pace, the Highlander and he would meet again. When they rested, he would appear, like a wraith, and crush the life out of them. Or would he?

Ard knew Antrax wanted him to chase Quentin. Why, he wasn't quite sure, but he suspected that it had something to do with the magic.

_Of course._ It was so obvious, now that he had time to think and the killing lust had gone from his mind. He'd seen enough of Antrax to know that it coveted power, and what, after the technology of the Old World, was more powerful than magic?

That was his fate, then. Capture Quentin Leah and his magical sword. That was why he had been turned into something so despicable, so loathsome.

Anger flared in him briefly at the thought, that the young Highlander was responsible for all this. It made him think that Quentin deserved to be dead. How could he have been so vile, showing off all his magic and making Antrax want it bad enough to make him, Ard Patrinell, into a—a _wronk_?

_Shades, what am I thinking?_

It wasn't Quentin's fault. It wasn't even Walker's fault for bringing him along.

Walker. A chill ran down his human arm. What if someone else had been turned into a wronk to chase him? What if that someone had been Ahren?

What if everyone was either dead or being chased by the dead?

What if, what if, what if. The questions continued, and he was too heartsick to answer them.

For two days he chased them, more often than not surprising them when they thought they had eluded him temporarily. But always, he emerged from their confrontation barehanded, with no magical sword or a Highland body. Tamis knew him that well.

Tamis! He couldn't bear to think of her, not when he knew that he was chasing his former lover as well, might end up killing her and bringing both of their bodies to Antrax so that it could harvest what parts it wanted. She was an excellent Tracker, and Antrax might use that to its advantage. The thought made him sick, but it was nothing new. Of course he had already thought about it all a hundred times over ever since Quentin, Tamis, and the Elven Hunters had appeared in that steely gray tunnel that led him to where he was now. Inevitable, all of it. And such a waste.

Once, while tracking the two, he came upon the Rindge village. And was helpless to prevent its destruction. He must have killed hundreds of people that day.

Somehow, though, he didn't care so much anymore. At the beginning, when he had first emerged from that tunnel, he was wrecked with grief at killing those red strangers and the Elf Wye. But now, emotions were leaving him like sand between cupped hands, to be carried away on the current. The only things that mattered to him now were Tamis and death.

The third night. A sense of foreboding draped over him like a stuffy blanket, weighing him down and making him nervous. Something was going to happen this night.

Ard walked on, following Quentin and Tamis' trail with ease. Despite all their efforts, he still could tell where they went. A stray twig here, a crushed leaf there. Being a former Captain of the Home Guard, he knew all the tricks.

And then they appeared.

The two were just standing there, weapons in hand but motionless nonetheless. The Sword of Leah glowed softly in Quentin's hands. Bright moonlight reflected off her blade, illuminating Tamis' hard face. The face of a former lover desperate to avenge the person she had cared so deeply for.

Patrinell almost unconsciously cast his eyes around. If they were willing to take a stand and fight, then there must be some sort of trap lying around.

Ah, yes. A few feet in front of them and to the left was a piece of dirt-brown cloth sticking up. From its position, he could tell that they were standing to the right of some sort of pit—the scattering of grasses and twigs certainly seemed to suggest that.

He watched Tamis move left, a little ahead of Quentin, picking her way carefully, until she stood directly behind the pit. Closing on her with inexorable determination, he was spurred on by her taunting words and loosely held sword.

"Come and get me," she was whispering. "Come and fight me like the man you really are, not this piece of flashing metal."

It was so good to hear her talk again in something other than a scream, even though the words stung and broke his heart. It was so good to know that she was still alive and as vivacious as ever, despite the events of the past few days.

Ard prayed that this would never change about her.

Then he remembered Quentin, who was the real object of his hunt. He turned towards him.

Quentin froze up from the suddenness of it, breathing rapidly. Ard came towards him relentlessly. His weapons lifted as he prepared to strike him down.

"Do something!" Tamis screamed.

It almost seemed as if Quentin had been in another world and had been jolted back rudely, so abrupt were his movements. He darted right so fast that Ard failed to hit him, then just as the other began to close in on him again Quentin shifted to the left.

Patrinell charged, his blades held before him, and the next thing he knew he was in a deep pit, covered by dirt.

There was a soft screeching where metal parts grated against rock, but it didn't seem as if anything serious damage had been done.

He stood up, his metal feet balancing precociously on the sharp stone, wishing that the fall had been enough to kill him, just as a light appeared from overhead. It illuminated the sides of the pit and he could now see roots sticking out, handholds waiting for him to use. He began to climb out.

When the two appeared again after running off in search of something or other, looking frenzied, they began throwing rocks, limbs, dirt, anything they could get their hands on to knock him off. Several times they succeeded, but each time he wearily picked himself up again and climbed back up, always looking them straight in the eye, even after they stopped looking in his.

After a while the projectiles became less varied and were reduced to mounds of deadwood. He realized what they were doing too late, after they had thrown their torch in as well and the pit became a blazing inferno. His human arm blistered, became charred as the flames licked hungrily at his skin.

He screamed soundlessly at the pain that was consuming him, that would, with any luck, guide him into oblivion but would take its time in doing so. Tears of pain and desperation welled up in his eyes, but the heat quickly evaporated them.

Eventually, the flames died out, but Patrinell still remained, almost unchanged save for the steaming arm and the face that was creased with renewed anguish and hopelessness. Quentin saw it and recognized it for what it was.

Tamis reappeared, thrusting a huge branch at Quentin, and together, the two of them used it like a battering ram to try and knock him off, to try and disable his working parts. Time after time, they succeeded, but then while preparing to use it, its end got too close to Patrinell and he took hold of it with both hands, dropping his weapons.

He propped the branch against the side of the pit like a ladder and began his slow, ponderous way up. All the while, he mourned the loss of grace his former body had once possessed, the life he could have lived if this hadn't happened. He mourned the fact that he had to attempt to kill his allies in order for his peace to come.

Most of all, he mourned Tamis, who he knew would give up her life in order for him to be laid at rest. And she was still long, with so much ahead of her…

She was screaming something about promises right now, her fury lashing out brutally at Quentin, then she ran off somewhere. Meanwhile, Quentin peered over the edge at him, wearing the same expression as Ard, only to a lesser degree. The Sword of Leah was in view as well, burning white light.

The white light. This was the one thing that had any hope of releasing him. He prayed that Quentin would keep his head while in combat and not do anything stupid with the Sword.

Then Tamis was back, hauling another shorter, stouter branch than the original, and the two strove to knock him back down again, where he belonged. But Patrinell was prepared and took the ram right out of their hands before they had even scored one hit and knocked them backwards with one powerful blow. A blur of light soared across the darkness, and Ard knew that Quentin had lost his grip on the Sword of Leah.

He got out of the pit while the Highlander was still searching for his sword and was met by a defiant Tamis.

"Tamis, run!" Quentin shouted.

The same words were echoing in his own mind.

But Tamis didn't run. She was too incensed to back off, too angry with Antrax to just stand by and watch her lover suffer like this. She charged, so furious that she knocked him backwards, and his blackened human arm stiffened in pain as her short sword jabbed into it. His metal arm grappled with her as well, but she wrapped her arm around the long knife and shield, with careless disregard as to any injuries she might sustain.

Quentin, currently in the background, began to yell out "Leah! Leah!" which Ard recognized as the Highland battle cry. He went after them, a possessed look in his eyes, and slammed into both without much effect. Ard watched as Quentin, rejected, stepped back and with strength fueled by the injustices of what Antrax did to people, swung the Sword of Leah with such fury that he severed Ard's human arm off.

An expression of shock and disbelief flashed across Patrinell's face, and physical pain like he never knew before swept over him. He closed his eyes, but nothing could ease it. His mouth opened in yet another soundless scream.

Opening his eyes again, both of which were narrowed like a cat's, he watched as Quentin's face contorted in anger and look more determined than ever. Even as Tamis was clawing at the clear protective shield over Ard's head, tears streamed down her cheeks to land on him.

His arm grappled feverishly with Tamis' long knife, unaware of the fact that the Sword of Leah had been jammed into the ball-and-socket joint between his shoulder blade and arm until it had broken off, the blade dropping from the now useless fingers.

He stepped backwards hesitantly, not sure what to do now that both his arms were gone, and decided to shake free of Tamis, who was still clinging to him. Quentin came closer, the shining Sword of Leah still held in his sweaty hands, attempting to damage his legs while Patrinell couldn't adequately defend himself.

After what seemed like hours and hours of lurching through the night, the Highlander finally broke off the right foot. Ard fell to his knees, defenseless save for the clear half-sphere over his head.

Submission. On his knees to beg. But to who? And for what?

He looked up through a light sheen of blood at Quentin, his savior, his angel of death, and watched as the Sword came hammering down on the shield time and time again until it was finally cracked. The Highlander then shifted his attack to the metal legs, and after countless blows that made his whole body shake with the power of it, severed the left one off as well.

As he fell backwards, unable to hold himself up any longer, he saw Tamis off to the side, clutching her chest, a mass of bloodied flesh. He had killed her, his lover. The tears came again, blurring his eyesight, but it didn't matter. At least… they had defeated… Antrax… and put him… to peace…

A bittersweet happiness rose up in him, but it was quickly washed away by the pain and horror of the past few days.

Unbidden, the memories came back.

How the creeper had captured him.

How he had watched from a glass container his body, headless and with only one arm, been dragged away by the sweepers.

How, in a dreamlike state, he had seen himself become something else.

How it felt when he had killed Wye and the red-skinned people.

How Quentin and Tamis had eluded him day after day until now, this moment of reckoning.

How he had pushed Tamis so close to the abyss of death that one more misstep would send her toppling over.

"Finish it!" Tamis rasped, her voice harsh and choked with blood. "Keep your promise, Highlander!"

And finally, how he had become so grotesque a thing that even Tamis called him an _it_ now, and not a _him_.

Ard Patrinell's humanity was gone. All that remained was for Quentin Leah to destroy the thing that had once held it.

_Free me._

The Highlander stalked up, sadness in his eyes as he looked at the helpless former Captain of the Home Guard, and shattered the face shield in two quick blows, gasping with the exertion. Warm night air washed over him, caressing his face, whispering _farewell_ in his ear. The stubs of his detached limbs twitched slightly.

_I'll be waiting for you, Tamis,_ Ard Patrinell thought before the Sword of Leah came swiftly down towards his face and gave him the peace he had been seeking ever since the day he had seen his arm floating in the clear liquid so, so long ago.

- End -

A/N: Well, I finally finished it. I hope you enjoyed reading this… by the way, pleeeeeease review! :p


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